First Kiss
by Hermione-G-Weasley
Summary: Pure and utter R/H fluff...


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, and I do not own the song in question, either. I am actually using the song to act as a piece of Hermione's original poetry. In real life, however, the song is "First Kiss" by International Five.  
  
Warning: This is pure and utter fluff. Read at your own risk…  
  
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'Will I close my eyes?  
  
Will I hold my breath?  
  
Will I want to cry?  
  
Will our souls connect?'  
  
Hermione Granger looked down at the words she had just written. What would it be like? It seemed as though she'd been asking this question forever, and she wondered briefly why she'd never put it to writing before. Usually whenever she was stuck about something, she'd just write it all out, and everything would make sense.  
  
She wondered, though, if this would ever make sense.  
  
'I've been thinking about it when I go to bed.  
  
At night I wonder, wonder…'  
  
Yes, she had been thinking about it at night. She'd been thinking about it at night, every night, for the past two and a half years. But no matter how often she seemed she thought about it or wondered about it, it still made no sense. She was still as completely confused as she had been in third year when she'd had the first dream.  
  
It was a silly dream, really. She reckoned at the time that she must have seen just one too many Muggle romance films. The whole dream was extremely cliché, and she blushed slightly remembering it. The sun setting behind them and the gentle breeze that blew all around them, not to mention the soft humming of the ocean as the waves rolled in one after another onto the sand where they stood embracing. She was crying over something (she had no idea what), and he was comforting her, holding her and tenderly running his hand down her hair. Before they both pulled away just slightly and stared into the other's eyes. And, of course, that's when the fireworks started shooting far off in the distance- the moment their lips touched.  
  
Yes, it was a silly dream.  
  
But it had made her think.  
  
'Will you hold my hand?  
  
Will you speak of love?  
  
Will the stars be shining in the sky above?  
  
Will it be all that I've been dreaming of?'  
  
Hermione studied her writing carefully. The picture she was painting in her poetry seemed almost as clichéd as her third year dream had been. Of course, it wasn't like that dream was the last one she'd had. She'd been blessed (or plagued, depending on how you wanted to view it) with those sorts of dreams for over two years. And none of them made any more sense than the first had.  
  
But she didn't just dream about kissing him anymore; no she often found herself getting lost in thoughts of his lips against hers while she was wide-awake- in class, at dinner, in the Common Room. She thought about it all the time. She dreamed about it all the time.  
  
It was driving her mad.  
  
When she thought back to the first few months of their acquaintance, she could hardly believe that she was now spending every waking hour and every non-waking hour, as well, fantasizing about kissing him. He'd been such a prat back then; well, actually, he still was. But she didn't mind it anymore; it was what she associated with him- red hair and insufferableness.  
  
That was Ron Weasley to a tee.  
  
At eleven, she would never have believed that she would have any desire at all to even touch the youngest Weasley boy, much less kiss him. But now, it was all she could think about.  
  
'Will it taste like candy?  
  
Will it be that sweet?  
  
Will our hearts be racing to a Heavenly beat?  
  
Will the moment sweep me off my feet?'  
  
She smiled at the last few lines she had written. She imagined that kissing Ron would very much be like tasting candy. Though she scolded him terribly for his constant over-intake of sugar, she secretly found it to be absolutely endearing. Completely sweet, to make a light pun. She wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss him after he'd been sucking on the end of a Sugar Quill. Would she be able to taste the spun sugar still remnant in his mouth?  
  
The thought made her lightheaded.  
  
And she somehow knew that their hearts were capable of beating perfectly together. They were best friends, right? Didn't they already know all the inner passageways of the other's hearts? She was sure that they did.  
  
No one knew her like Ron did- not even Harry.  
  
'Will I tremble, tremble  
  
When I beg for more?  
  
Will it be like anything I've never felt before?  
  
Will we be down for a little more?'  
  
She'd pictured it so many times in her head that she just knew she'd tremble. If it ever happened, she'd be so swept away that she wouldn't be able to do anything but tremble. Her legs would barely be capable of holding her weight; she just knew it.  
  
A little more?  
  
Hermione couldn't quite believe that she'd written something that suggestive. Honestly, she never allowed herself to think of anything more than that first kiss. If she pictured the second, third, or fourth kiss, or if she were to picture anything other than kissing, it would simply steal the magic from that sacred first.  
  
And she knew that they were capable of creating wonderful magic together.  
  
'I can picture it all inside my head,  
  
Just how it's going to feel.  
  
But a girl can only dream so much.  
  
Now she wants to make it real.'  
  
Make it real.  
  
She wanted to make it real more than she wanted to set a record for the most number of N.E.W.T.s earned by a Hogwarts student. She just couldn't take it any longer- the dreaming wasn't doing it for her anymore.  
  
She needed to feel it for real. She needed to find out exactly which of her many reactions would fit the actual kiss properly, and she needed to find out exactly how sweet his kisses would taste. And she needed to feel their hearts beat together in that Heavenly beat.  
  
She needed to make it real.  
  
"Hey."  
  
A voice racked her from her thoughts instantaneously, and she looked up into a pair of blue eyes that she knew as well as she knew her own. His red hair was falling over his forehead in a most disheveled manner, and she was most positive that he'd been off on the Quidditch Pitch practicing again. The sweat that was glistening so boldly against his neck confirmed her assumption.  
  
"Hey," she gave him a small smile before tucking the piece of parchment into her bag inconspicuously. "Where's Harry?"  
  
"Went back up to the dormitory to shower," he said before tossing his bag onto the grass and letting his body fall against the tree she was leaning on as he joined her on the ground. "He said he has to go research his essay for McGonagall, but I know he's only going to the library to meet my sister." Ron's voice held only a slight trace of the utter disgust it had months earlier when he'd first realized Harry and Ginny were more than just friends.  
  
"You seem to be dealing with all of that better," Hermione said fleetingly.  
  
She heard Ron sigh as they both stared at the lake in front of them. "Well, what can you do?"  
  
She nodded, though she knew he probably couldn't see her; he seemed quite entranced by something in the middle of the lake, and she pretended to be as well. "So, what are you doing?" she asked in what she hoped was a neutral, unsuspicious voice.  
  
She caught the motion of his shrugging shoulders from the corner of her eye. "I knew you'd be down here, so I decided to come here first instead of going back to the Tower." He said all of this as though it was nothing.  
  
But it was something. He'd come down to the lake especially for her.  
  
"Oh." She hoped her voice didn't sound too pleased.  
  
"Yeah, cause you know," Ron continued, "Harry will certainly be indisposed for the next couple of hours."  
  
She felt something in her stomach drop, but she just shrugged and nodded all at the same time. "Yeah," was all she could think of to say.  
  
They were silent for awhile, and Hermione knew that something was bothering Ron. He was simply never quiet, and on the rare occasions that she had found him speechless, there was always something bothering him.  
  
Despite the fact that she was upset at having been flat-out told that she was number two to Harry, she finally gave in and said, "Ron, what's wrong?"  
  
"Huh?" Ron looked up at her absently, and she turned to look at him. "Nothing's wrong." His tone couldn't have convinced a deaf person.  
  
Hermione debated pressing the matter or letting it pass. She'd known Ron long enough to know that he didn't like to be badgered about his feelings; he was a very private person when it came to his emotions. She eventually decided on, "Okay," as her answer.  
  
Moments later, after another hard-pressed silence, Ron spoke up. "Hermione, can I ask you something?" His voice was distant and seemingly confused.  
  
She nodded and looked at him once again. "Yeah, sure."  
  
Ron bit down on his lower lip and finally said, "Do you ever get scared?"  
  
Now it was her turn to be confused. "Scared?"  
  
He scowled just slightly and turned his attention to a patch of clovers in front of him. Very, very quietly he said, "Yeah. You know, like that something is going to happen that we can't stop?"  
  
She really was puzzled now. "What do you mean?"  
  
Ron sighed, obviously upset at her lack of comprehension, and said, "Well, today at practice, I was watching Harry, and he was just flying like everything was fine. And we're all going on like nothing is wrong, you know? Like that there's no Dark Lord out there trying to kill us. And it just scares me." He frowned slightly. "I don't know. I'm just scared that while we're all trying to act normal and everything, something terrible is going to happen. And we won't be able to do anything about it." He still hadn't looked up from the clover patch.  
  
Hermione suddenly understood everything he was talking about perfectly. She'd been worried about the same sort of thing, but she'd forced herself not to think about it because she didn't want to believe that anything might happen to her or any of the people she loved. Nodding just barely, she said very quietly, "I know what you mean."  
  
Ron took this opportunity to look up at her, his eyes holding something she wasn't used to seeing in them, though she wasn't sure how to classify it exactly. "You do?"  
  
She nodded again. "Yeah. But I don't like to think about anything like that happening." He stared at her intently, and she found herself growing a bit apprehensive under his look. Averting her gaze to the ground, she started picking at the clover pile he had been so previously interested in.  
  
She felt Ron's gaze on her, and she peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but finally he just shut his mouth and nodded slightly. They were quiet for a long, long moment before Ron spoke again.  
  
"Um…" he seemed to be searching for the right words. "I was thinking about all that, and, well… it made me think of something else." His voice was quiet, and Hermione had to strain to hear it.  
  
She looked up from the clovers. She'd obviously been at the lake for a good while because the sun was beginning to set over the trees in front of her. In an equally quiet voice, she questioned him. "What else did it make you think of?"  
  
Ron was looking at her, an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face. She noticed that it wasn't nearly as freckly as it had been in earlier years. They were starting to fade, and his face was slowly changing from the boyish mischief it had always held to a more mature and handsome face. She'd spent hours studying that face in her years at Hogwarts, and she knew every inch of it. But the expression covering that face now was one she didn't recognize at all.  
  
It took him another minute to find the words to answer her. He was looking extremely nervous, and he swallowed once, averting his eyes back to the clover patch. "Um… Hermione, if something was to happen… you know, to somebody I really cared about… Well, I wouldn't want anything left open with that person… Do you know what I mean?"  
  
Hermione furrowed her brow. She wondered if all his stuttering around was actually him trying to tell her something that she'd been praying to hear for years now. She hoped that it was, but, then again, she never had been able to understand Ron Weasley completely. It seemed as though he was always saying something or another that accomplished nothing except confusing her completely. "Not really," she admitted quietly.  
  
Ron sighed loudly, obviously upset at her lack of understanding. He looked up at her, and she noticed that his blue eyes seemed to be a reflecting spot for the rapidly setting sun. "I'm talking about you," he said finally.  
  
"Huh?" she raised her eyebrows, getting more confused by the second.  
  
"Hermione, this is hard enough. Please, don't make me spell it out."  
  
"I don't understand what you're talking about, though," she answered honestly. It was the truth.  
  
He sighed again and began chewing on his lower lip in the way he always did when he was uneasy about something. Looking up and taking a deep breath, he managed to find the right words. "You're the person I was talking about- the one I really care about."  
  
Her heart seemed to stop as she looked at him expectantly. He continued seconds after surveying her reaction.  
  
Shifting slightly on the ground, he glanced nervously around as he spoke. "I mean, you've been my best friend for six years, and I'd do anything for you; you know that. But I just couldn't stand it if something happened and I never got to tell you how much I care about you."  
  
Hermione was hoping beyond hope that he was going to tell her what she'd been dying to hear. Hoping to lead him to that confession, she said, "Well, you're my best friend, too."  
  
Ron smiled slightly, and then he took a quick breath and nodded. "Um… Well, I… I've been meaning to tell you…" His face was growing more flushed with every word. Whatever it was he had to say was obviously much easier thought out than said.  
  
"What is it, Ron?" she asked quietly, looking directly into his eyes and holding his gaze with her stare.  
  
He locked his eyes with hers and sighed very softly. "This is so hard," he whispered. "It's going to sound stupid…"  
  
'This is it, Granger. Now or never,' Hermione thought silently to herself. Without thinking twice, she knew what she had to do. Never breaking the eye contact she held with him, she leaned forward just enough to feel his breath against her lips. He was giving her a look that could only be explained as a mixture of anticipation and terror. 'Yes, do it,' she urged herself.  
  
And then she kissed him.  
  
The second her lips touched his, her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt a wonderful little tremor go through her body. They stayed like that for a few seconds, their lips merely resting against each others, before he started to move his under hers. He kissed her slowly and softly, and Hermione was sure she must be dreaming because she'd never imagined it to feel like this. Going on her instincts, she began to move her own lips, meeting his just as slowly and just as softly. The kiss went no deeper, but Hermione didn't care; it was the purest most innocent, romantic thing she had ever experienced.  
  
When they pulled away moments later, their eyes opened to stare at each other silently. Both of their breathing was a bit irregular, but the look they were sharing was enough for both of them. Finally, Hermione managed to speak.  
  
In a soft whisper, she said, "Is that what you wanted to say?"  
  
A tiny smile covered Ron's lips, and he nodded slightly. "Yeah. That was exactly it… You shouldn't have dropped Divination; I think you're a true seer." His smile grew a bit wider, and Hermione gave him one of her own.  
  
"Oh, shut up," she started, but was silenced with another kiss. This one quick and just as gentle as the first.  
  
When Ron pulled away, he stood up. "I have to shower," he told her grinning. "Can I see you later?"  
  
She nodded, the silly smile still plastered across her face. Ron returned one of his own and disappeared toward the castle before either of them could speak again.  
  
Hermione sat in silence for a long moment, revelations of what had just transpired playing through her mind over and over.  
  
It had been so perfect, and she knew exactly what she had to do. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the parchment she'd been writing on earlier and her quill.  
  
Smiling, she finished the poem.  
  
'Our first kiss won't be the last.  
  
Our love's too deep to end that fast.  
  
And good things come to those who have to wait.  
  
I believe it's only time that keeps us from the things divine.  
  
And when it's here, you know it's gonna stay.'  
  
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Pure fluff, I know. It even sickened me- why can't real life be this way? SIGH…. Oh, well, I'd adore feedback! :-) 


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